


Still and Discreet

by which_chartreuse



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: 500 words or less, Caryl if you want it to be, Future Fic, Gen, Inspired by a Hozier Song, My First Work in This Fandom, Not Song Fic, Potentially Canon Compliant, Semi-Graphic Description of Corpses, depressing and sweet at the same time, long simmering idea finally sees light, loosely inspired by song, presumably post-canon, teenage Judith, under 500 words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 09:51:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20776598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/which_chartreuse/pseuds/which_chartreuse
Summary: For all their squabbling back and forth over the years, for all the morbid hypothetical arguments that had been fought by countless others out of their earshot over that same time, it turned out Daryl had been right.





	Still and Discreet

**Author's Note:**

> The most obvious inspiration for this work is the song In A Week, by Hozier (I recommend slowing it down to .75 speed, as that is how I listened to it as I wrote, and it makes it eerier and slightly discordant).

Judith pushed hard at the doors, ripping through the tattered rope looped through the handles with the serrated side of her knife. Flaking paint clung to her jacket as she shouldered her way into the stale shed. Light streamed in through the open doors, through the gaps in the roof, illuminating the motes dancing in the newly stirred air, but it still took slow moments for her eyes to adjust. 

And when they did, she found what she had feared. What they had all instinctually known for weeks now. 

Far back against the wall, two figures leaned upon each other where they sat, as if in familiar slumber. Just resting. Yet no breath raised or hollowed either chest. The sound of her struggle at the doors had not woken them, and nothing else ever would. 

For all their squabbling back and forth over the years, for all the morbid hypothetical arguments that had been fought by countless others out of their earshot over that same time, it turned out Daryl had been right. From the look of things – from the way his crossbow lay against her chest, and the knuckle-duster blade hung, dirty, from her hand where it rested on the stock – Carol had gone second. 

She may not have outlived them all, but she had outlived Daryl Dixon by at least a few moments. 

The bolt fletching protruding beneath Carol’s jaw marred the illusion of their having fallen asleep, and once she noticed, Judith couldn’t ignore the other sad indicators of their deaths. The dark stains that flowed down their necks and into the layers of frayed clothes. The thin limbs that had been withering long before decomposition had begun to eat them. 

She couldn’t understand how this could happen until she saw the way Daryl’s leg jutted unnaturally at the knee. He wouldn’t have been able to walk, and Carol wouldn’t have been able to carry him far. The long winter and tardy spring would have cut them off from help. And Judith knew Carol never would have left him behind. 

Their hunger-thinned fingers were woven together, linking them to the very last. 

Judith felt a hot tear spill down her cheek at the same moment the sound of Maggie tramping across the overgrown yard reached her ear. She turned back, pulling the doors shut behind her, and met Maggie’s hazel eyes with a shake of her head. The confusion lifted Maggie’s brow before understanding split her expression, joining Judith in silently weeping. 

“Were they…?” Maggie couldn’t – wouldn’t – finish the question, but Judith shook her head. 

“Carol took care of it,” Judith whispered, scrubbing the tears from her face. 

~``~

They stood between the burnt ruin of a farm house and the shed-cum-sepulcher, on a lawn of wildflowers, leaning against their shovels and pushing aside their grief. In the growing sunlight, the colors shown like a garden from a picture book. It was a good place to rest. 

“They survived together. They lived…” 

And they died together.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a communion of several inspirations and thoughts and ideas I've had over the course of watching the shows and reading the comics. I decided to post it now because I want to get it out before the next season starts and shifts the characters (and my thoughts on them) further.  
The core idea of this little piece has been simmering since the episodes that brought Daryl and Beth together as survival partners, when Beth tells Daryl he'll "be the last man standing." I am a pretty equal opportunity shipper - no Caryl or Bethyl hate here - but I always come back around to the Daryl and Carol dynamic in general; so I (morbidly) think a lot about who will live longer. I thought I would write it both ways, but it always came out this way. Other way didn't feel right. I imagine at some point Daryl tells Carol the story of he and Beth traveling, and that Carol agrees with the sentiment that he will outlive them all. Daryl jokingly and lovingly disagrees, insisting Carol will. And then, well... life goes on until it doesn't.  
I also debated who would be the primary perspective character and kept circling around to an older Judith. In the end I didn't think she would have gone out looking entirely alone, though, so I brought back Maggie. I know she is currently absent from the show, but I don't think they will kill her off screen anytime soon. I feel like there is a lot of potential for a strong future connection there.   
There are remnants of a larger story here, and I hope they don't distract you. I didn't want things to run away from me and decided to keep it under 500 words. I hope they set your imagination on fire instead.   
Anyway. Methinks I doth explain too much. In the end, it is what it is. Thank you for reading.


End file.
